I had a date with Moshe Thursday night. Yeah, yeah. I know. This is getting boring. Better I should write about Scrabble with Scary Fairy? Or my doctor’s appointment? Blood pressure’s perfect if you’re keeping score at home. Don’t worry. Pinkie arrives on Sunday, so the blog next week should be juicy.
Pinkie is in Salt Lake City now at her Conference. Apparently she has located the only speakeasy in Utah where they serve booze. I keep getting unintelligible texts in the middle of the night. I got one announcing that she had bought a Donovan McNabb jersey so we can both wear them Sunday night at the Sports Bar G-man fan Pat is taking us to to watch the Eagles-Giants game. Hopefully, Pinkie will not start a Zinfy-fuelled free-for-all with the New Yawkers. Yes, I remember; I have done it once. But it was in Dallas and they were goddamned Cowboys fans, and no one got seriously hurt. Oh, okay, that time in Phoenix…and the time in St. Louis…it was too fricking cold in Cleveland to work up the enthusiasm to start a riot no matter what you heard. And it doesn’t count if it’s a Flyers game, and it’s in D.C.
I did have a strange experience this week. I locked myself out of the house. That isn’t, of course, the strange part; everybody in King of Prussia and Weybridge had keys to my house for just that eventuality. It happened…a lot. I just don’t know anybody in Clifton to give keys to. My phones were in the house too; I don’t know anybody’s numbers.
I walked across the street and called on a neighbor. I explained my dilemma, and asked to borrow the Yellow Pages and the phone. Actually, she was pretty nice. She didn’t let me into the house, maybe because I don’t sound like I live at Exit Whatever on the Garden State, but let me sit on her steps and call an Emergency Locksmith. Tony will be here in forty-five minutes? Okay. I’ll live.
As promised, about an hour later, a little black van pulls up, and the hottest guy I have ever seen (well, not as hot as Stefano at Hedonism, but hot, if you know what I mean) gets out. I explain the situation. I think about sexual connotations; unlock – open – keys – whatever. As he takes out his big tool – gottcha – we’re just chatting, and I get suspicious. He has an accent, and it’s not North Jersey.
“Hey, Locksmith Guy” I asked smoothly, “Where are you from?” I am afraid he is going to say “Syria” or “Iran” or something. Honestly, I am so totally an Arab-magnet. Locksmith Guy goes “Haifa”. “Haifa? Like, as in Haifa, Israel?” I said gobsmacked. “Yes. Have you been to Israel?” he purrs with those liquid brown eyes caressing me. (Big lie) Wow. I’m glad I atoned for all those pesky little sins for Yom Kippur just in case there is a God and He happens to be Jewish. Yahweh, or Adonai, is keeping his end of the bargain. It’s raining Jews; Halleluya. Suddenly, everywhere I turn, I’m tripping over Jewish guys. I am in Pig Heaven. Yeah…right. Not Pig Heaven. Maybe Kosher Beef Heaven? I quickly mumble the ‘Blessing Over the Hannukah Minorah”. It’s the first one I thought of. I’m not even certain there’s a “Thank You for Sending a Jewish Locksmith Who is Really Hot” prayer.
“Of course” he says, “’Tony’ is my American nickname; my name is Hagay”. I am in lust. Honesty compels me to report that when repeating this story to Scary Fairy later that evening, she wondered (out loud) if the British Embassy had somehow gotten wind of my proclivity for men with aliases and found it a tiny bit sinister.
Hagay had to break the goddamned lock. But it’s all good. This meant he would have to come back, twice, to put in a new lock.
Back to my date. Sorry. Check back next week for exactly what Hagay said when I was wearing my ‘You Had Me at Shalom’ shirt when he came back.
Somehow Moshe (‘Jim’ to the British Embassy) and I have fallen into a routine; we see each other twice a week. Does anyone know? Am I ‘going steady’? Since I didn’t realize I was ‘dating’ in the first place, now I am worried that I am in even deeper shit than I realized. And he emails – a lot. I know this did not happen in the olden days; computers weren’t invented yet! Will somebody please clarify for me exactly when one is suddenly ‘in a relationship’? Is there a party, and gifts? If yes, what should I wear?
And another thing; how long does a date last? Scary Fairy looked at me very disapprovingly as she said, “What time did you come in? I went to bed at 3:00 and you weren’t home yet.” I was very grateful that she doesn’t have the authority to ground me. “Umm” I prevaricated, “Around 4:30.” She started to ask what we could possibly have been doing until 4:30 in the morning, but I gave her a Jeano Look, and warned, “Don’t even go there or I might have to really tell you.” Last night was an early night; I was home by 3:00. He picked me up at 6:00.
I know what you’re pondering. Yeah. No. Possibly. I don’t give a monkey’s chuff what you think.
We had dinner, and then went to Moshe’s. He had finally finished a video that he’d been working on for several months, and wanted me to see the finished product. So I watched ‘Jared K****man’s Third and Final Bar Mitzvah’, the entire hour and a half. Jared really did have three bar mitzvahs; two in Israel and one in New York. A quick run-down: Jared’s Mom didn’t look that terrific, I think I saw that suit at Loehmann’s; I loved the table settings at the luncheon, balloons instead of flowers, but the colors- maroon and grey – very elegant; they had a machine that took a digital picture of the guests and then it got baked onto a piece of chocolate; the DeeJay wasn’t great, they couldn’t afford a band? The cake, for the thirteen candles, was a huge disappointment. It looked like they picked it up at Costco’s on the way to the synagogue. One neat touch; as Moshe filmed, the video was played on a giant screen, so people could watch themselves having a hell of a good time at Jared’s Bar Mitzvah. Of course, I was meant to be paying attention to the pictures, special effects, graphics, music selection, etc. Moshe said Jared’s Mom was involved in every decision of what to include, song choices, and so on. They had a conference every week. Oh. Steven Spielberg’s brother was at the Bar Mitzvah.
Moshe was mixing some music for other videos he’s editing, so we fooled around with the music mixing program for a while. Then we fooled around.
Note to Scary Fairy: If you are reading this, no. We didn’t. We played Scrabble. Three really long, intense games.